Hope and Fear
by CharlesA
Summary: The Siege of Minas Tirith, and the Battle of Pelennor, from a diffrient perspective.rnA Gondorian soldier's experiences and feelings, during the Siege, and a rider of Rohan's, during the battle.
1. The Last Fight

This is a stroy based on the film, Return of the King, and not on Tolkiens fantastic book.

DISCLIAMER:Anything belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema.

**Hope and Fear**

The soldiers came up the hill, carrying our captain, Faramir, the Last son of the Steward. He was dying.

I could see his face, when the formation passed by me. I could feel the tears pressing and a lump in my throat. My land, my people, my life, was dying. This was the End.

The Street laid, in total darkness. I couldn't remember, when I slept the last, and my sense of time were gone, for all were night now. I was trapped in a nightmare.

I went to my Hall, to have my watch. But what was where to watch? An army, at least hundred times larger surrounding Minas Tirith, as a huge, black sea of death. Yes, I'd seen it.

I dressed in black and silver, the uniform of the Tower Guard, while thinking: Would I ever be able, to take it of again?

But suddenly, something made me return to the reality. Laud screams, ripping the air. I ran out and saw, heads chopped off, lying in the streets. It was the heads of Gondorian soldiers, my kinsmen.

I recognised a friend of mine, as I saw riding through the streets without any hope, along with a hundred or so, to fight the entire army of Mordor. That was not 6 hours ago, but I felt it was like an eternity.

I saw a house in ruins, and I looked up. Stones were thrown towards the city, with huge damage, wherever they hit. It was no longer safe inhere, so I grabbed my shield and my spear, and ran outside again.

Then, I heard a voice in my head, saying "Let it end, let me die. What can I do, I can't fight them." And then, a voice so horrible, that I thought it was the sky itself, came from above: "ABANDON YOUR POSTS! FLEE; FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"

It was the Steward. Even he hadn't any hope. We were doomed. What should I do, where should I hide, I couldn't escape. My mind, were no longer able to think. There were no hope or faith, inside me anymore. My only thought was death.

But now, there came, an even stronger voice, from above: "Prepare for Battle!" The words cut through my mind, commanding me to fight, to resist.

I ran to the main street, and there came Mithrandir riding on his horse, as a light in the dark shouting, "Hurry, men! To the wall! Defend the wall!" "Return to your posts!"

My hope returned. I had to fight. Not to surrender, before the End. His call was like a spell, but much more healthy, than the Stewards voice. It had the warmth of life.

I followed him, there was nothing else to do, and stood with the other soldiers, at the wall. I heard him shout again "Send these foul beasts down in the abyss" The last fight was begun.

The trebuchet slung the stone, out in the black sea, as stones thrown in the ocean. I saw it hit, with joy in my heart, but the moment after, there wasn't any difference more, there were too many. We couldn't win, but I clung me to my last hope. To despair now, was the same as surrender. Something, I was determined, never to do again.

I saw other stones thrown out in the darkness. Yes, the resistance was begun indeed, and we fought.

Stones flew from each side for some time. But, then they came. The Nazguls.

They came like a cloud of death and darkness. And then the scream, their infamous scream. It cut through the air, and it came into my mind, as a poison. It fought a fight against my hope, with the weapons of ill; fear, doubt and despair.

Anywhere there they were seen, people ran away. They couldn't resist the strongest weapon of Mordor. And anywhere there they stood their ground, the fell beasts they flew on, grabbed the men of Gondor, to let them fall to the ground, or pushed them down in their death.

I closed me in myself, as good as I could, but always the despair was ready to kill my will of fight. At that time, we saw giant towers that were pulled towards the wall. We shot at them, but they took no harm. Instead we had to kill the trolls that pushed the towers. But trolls are hard to kill, indeed. There was nothing to do, in the end the towers reached the wall, and a horde of orcs entered the wall.

I fought the best I could, but there came more and more. Always I had to be quick, kill one orc, and then the next, and always there was one to kill me, at any mistake I did. There was no time to fail, one wrong action, and my eyes would close forever.

But, there fought Mithrandir, he was like a lightning, dressed in his white robes. As long as he was there, they couldn't lose. He stood his ground, like Hurin of Dor-lomin in the battle of Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and I felt like he was the only defending our world; our last hope.

We fought against them for nearly an hour, but at last, though with many loss, we had held the wall. My hope came back, and I said to a man "We can win!"

But I could see the hope had died in him, and he said with a tired voice "But for how long?"

My mood went down again, he was right. But what was there to do, other than to resist? I had no other hope, than to trust Mithrandir, and follow him.

Down from the fields, a rough and terrible cry came: "Grond! Grond! Grond!" it was like the earth itself cried.

I saw an enormous creature coming towards the city. It was the most terrifying thing I ever had seen. It was totally black, but there was fire in its mouth. It was Grond, their feared ram, named after the Hammer of the Underworld. Even not the Gate of Minas Tirith, could stand against it. If the gate was forced, we were doomed.

Not an hour after, it reached the gate, our supplies of arrows, were beginning to shrink, and every orc we shot, was like pricking a giant with needles. There was no difference. It began to hunt me; there WAS no difference. I couldn't resist the thought, that even if I thought for a month, it's wouldn't be enough.

Grond stroke the gate with a terrible crash, and I took my place at the street behind it. We formed a line to make our last stand in the first level.

Grond stroke the gate again, and when it stroke third time, the awful wildboar head, made a large hole in the gate. Now they came.

Mithrandir, our last hope raised his voice, "Whatever comes out of these gates, you will hold your ground."

Grond stroke for the forth, and last time; the Gate was breached. My worst fear came true. There in the Gate, three giant trolls showed up, and they came towards us.

I was unable to move because of my fear. One of the trolls lifted its club to strike, and it hit my shield, so I was thrown away; they had broken trough our line.

An orc came towards me as I laid there, and I thought that I should die, but to my surprise, I could still move. I dropped my shied, and drew my sword. The orc came closer, but I was prepared, and I hit the orc in the bailey, and it was dead.

I look around, and saw hordes of orcs coming into the city, and I realised that the gate was lost. It was only a matter of time, before we all were dead.

I heard Mithrandir voice again, the only one, who didn't despair, "Fall back to the second level!" No, he to was begun to realise the fact, that the battle was lost.

I ran through the streets, to get to the second wall. I had to fight me through the orc, which were plundering the city. And anywhere I looked, the houses were on fire, all I saw were death and destruction. I saw a small glimpse of light in the horizon. The sun rose, but with what hope. My hope has died, and it would be forever.

But then a brittle voice, reached the city. It was the voice of a horn! At last, help had arrived.

New chapters will come soon.


	2. The Sun is Rising!

The sky was dark; the City was burning. In this my darkest hour, I thought all hope had gone, that we had ridden to death. I rode across the coaled grass, while thinking: "we are the last."

We rode a little further, hoping not to be discovered. Nothing was to hear, only the small noise of the battle about a mile way. As we approached the City, the noise grew, and I realised that there was no turning back.

I looked back, I did not know what I was looking for, but then I saw something, I had not seen for days; the Sun. And a cry rose from the riders "The wind is changing!" And I felt it; the wind of hope, was flowing in my flaxen-pale hair. It gave me my faith back.

All hope of disguise was lost, but still I was not bitter about it. Inside myself I faced my fate, whether it was death or glory. I remember my father's words "Some choices are never to be redecided, others never to be decided at all, but that does not mean, not to make them".

I raised my head, and something made me gaze; a golden glimpse. The king! The sun twinkled in his golden shield, and he glowed like Oromë the Great in times of old.

His voice rung across the army, even though he only addressed his orders "Éomer, take your éored down the left flank. Gamling, follow the kings banner down the centre. Grimbold, take your company right, after you have passed the wall. Forth, and fear no darkness.

He raised his voice; it revealed an inner fire, and a determination, only seldom seen in the children of Iluvatar:

Arise, arise, riders of Théoden!

Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,

A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!

I heard the clangs of metal against metal. The king galloped down the frontline, striking his sword, Herugrim, on the spears, while crying:

Ride now! Ride now! Ride!

Ride to ruin, and the world's ending!

Death!

And, the fields rung with our cries. Death, we cried, not as a longing, nor as an ill joy of it, but as an opponent to it. Again he cried and we along with him; our king. The third and final "Death" rung throughout the army, and our cries, lighted a fire inside me, unstoppable, as the sun itself.

And, when Théoden, son of Théngel, cried "Forth Eorlingas!" The signal to the people of Éorl the young, to was given! We who had a horn, took it, and blew in it, so the fields were trembling.

We began to ride down the hill, and the earth was shaking beneath our horses. Faster and faster we galloped toward the massive army.

The orcs began to fire at us, and a rider at my side fell, but I did not take notice of it, I was focused of one thing; to follow the king in his charge. I cried his words, along with several others: "Death!"

The orcs were beginning to move, as we approached them, and then the king, cried: "Charge!" And suddenly we rode through a black sea of orcs, screaming and fleeing. The orcs fled before us.

We rode and rode, and everywhere we came, the orcs fled. With the fire still burning inside me, I felt the feeling of victory more than ever. The world, my world was saved!

But then, I heard rumble, drums and horns, across the field. The shapes of several huge and grey, four-legged creatures, stamped toward us. They were painted in red, and carried wooden fortresses, armed with the wild Haradrim, of the southern deserts. I had never seen so enormous a foe. What could men, do against such a challenge? Our doom approached.

The King did not despair, and he cried the order: "Reform the line! Reform the line!" I refound my lost courage, and trusted the King. Rather die, than leave the King in his need! And then I heard the horn blow their call to charge, the fear inside me died, and we galloped toward the approaching creatures.

I headed towards one of them. I was only about 10 feet from the creature, when it the frontline was completely shattered, with a throw with its horns. They broke the eoreds, like water on rocks.

And then I was thrown to the ground. I laid totally still, thinking that my bones were broken. I thought that the darkness was about to take me. But; an orc came towards me. To my surprise I could move. I heard a voice in my head, but I could not remember there I was from: "If this shall be our end, then let it an end wordy of remembrance."

I grab my sword, and ran toward the orc, and I slew it. But I heard a voice clung across the field, it was the King: "Rally, to me, to me." No. The King was in danger. He needed us. He needed me. I saw him I his need, but to my horror, a flying beast flew right towards him. It was fouler than death itself, and without any glimpse, of the proud of dragons. It grabbed Snowmane, and the King was thrown to the ground, with Snowmane on him.

I was about to weep, and I heard someone cry "Knights of the King!" No. Not this time. The day was lost, and so was our King.

But there was one that heard the cry, and he stood before the Witch-King himself. The beast was about to kill the King, but he was to hurry, and he slew the beast, with three cut in its throat. The Witch-King fell along with his steed. The king was saved! One man, he slew the King of Darkness.

But, as many times before, my hope failed. I looked on the river, and the black ships of Umbar approached the harbour.

No. This time, the battle was lost. I heard Éomer call "Retreat to the city, the battle is lost!" The order was about to be done, when the Witch-King of Angmar, rose from the ground, in all his mightiness. His great mace of old, was swung several times against the King's saver. He avoided it many a time, proud in front of our dying king, but then the mace broke his shield, and he fell to the ground. Evil had won.

I felt a pain in my bag, and I fell over. I was about to pass out, and die. I looked a last time toward the ships, and to my surprise, there came a large beam of light from the harbour. "It's the death," I thought, but it filled me with joy and peace. Then my eyes closed, for the last time.


End file.
